


seeing the sun

by antivas



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antivas/pseuds/antivas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun, the sky, and the heavens that bind them. </p><p>(Or, a knight and her liege, from beginning to end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	seeing the sun

**Author's Note:**

> ok but the real question is, whose bright idea was it to bring only one half of the otp back? which writer was it, i'll— (shakes fist)
> 
> i threw one oc in here! see if you can guess which of the shepherds she's related to :")

 

**seeing the sun**

 

 

Phila is fourteen when the King dies, fourteen when she is reassigned to the Exalt’s guard. The new Exalt is pale wisp of a girl, quiet where her siblings are loud, somber where they are bright-eyed. The crown sits awkwardly on her head; it’s too big for her, too heavy. Phila looks at it and sees too much responsibility for a ten year old girl. She wonders what the Exalt sees when she looks at it.

The Royal Knight-Commander clears his throat. Phila snaps to attention, back ramrod straight. He levels his gaze at her momentarily, before adjusting himself to face the Exalt.

“My lady, to you I present Phila, a fine Pegasus Knight. She will guard you, as I did your father,” he says.

“Your Grace,” Phila says, dropping to her knee and bowing her head.

“Please,” the Exalt replies, “call me Emmeryn.”

Phila never does.

—

 

For the most part, knight and liege get along well. But they, like any other pair, have their moments of contention.

Their first argument is over safety. Phila finds it infuriating how willingly Emmeryn lets the Halidom’s people pelt her with rocks, threaten her with knives and pitchforks, how she refuses to raise a hand to them.

“It doesn’t need to be a hand of punishment, but you mustn’t let them continue to harm you, Your Grace! I cannot in good conscious allow this to continue—you have to put an end to this or we, your guard, will,” Phila exclaims.

“They are angry, Phila,” Emmeryn replies, “angry and afraid. If this helps them heal, I will shoulder it.”

“There are other ways of dealing with anger, ones that don’t involve beating you to death,” Phila snaps.

“What would you have me do?” Emmeryn asks.

Sometimes, in the midst of all her frustration, Phila forgets that the Exalt is just a girl, a child forced to grow up too quickly. Emmeryn is small and gentle-natured, a shrinking violet, too soft to stand alone against the harshness of the world. Her composed answers and calm tone belie her uncertainties.

Phila exhales.

“I would have you find the source of their anger and fear and do what you can to allay it,” she says.

“Will you help me?” Emmeryn asks, her voice small.

“I will be your shield and your sword, Your Grace,” Phila replies, unwavering in her certainty. “You can count on me to be at your side.”

Emmeryn looks her knight in the eye and nods, the ghost of a smile hovering on her lips. “I believe you.”

—

 

One day, Emmeryn takes off her father’s crown and asks it to be melted, forged anew. It comes back a simple figure of gold that she fastens to the back of her head. The halo form of the new crown is not lost to Phila, although to Emmeryn, it is.

“If I may, why reshape the old crown and not have a new one made?” Phila asks.

Emmeryn is quiet for a long while.

“To help Ylisse heal, I must be a different figure than my father was. I have hope that changing the shape of the crown will show people that I wish to become as much. It is my wish that the crown becomes a symbol of peace, not of war,” she says.

Phila says nothing. Emmeryn doesn’t look at her, she stares at her own reflection in her vanity’s mirror.

“The people will not know that this crown was born from the old one. They will see it a clean slate, free from the bloods of war. But I—cannot let myself forget what the past crown did.”

“You are not responsible for your father’s actions, Your Grace,” Phila says.

“No, but the repercussions are mine. The weight of my father’s legacy will always rest on my shoulders, Phila.”

Phila can feel the anger, the frustration welling up inside of her. “So you had the crown forged anew to remind you of that weight?”

“To remind myself of what I must fix and who I mustn’t become.”

This is what Phila hates the most: that the world cruelly birthed a gentle soul from a warmongering father. That the world will continue to judge Emmeryn for the actions of her sire, actions that were not hers to make or hers to control. Forever will she bear the ramifications of his decisions and the hatred of his people and the weight of the notion that because she is his daughter, it might be in her blood to fall to the same battle-stricken, power-hungry poison that her father did.

Emmeryn changed the shape of the crown to differentiate herself from her father. But she kept the material the same because she is still his daughter, she will always be crippled by his legacy.

“You aren’t your father,” Phila says.

“No, I’m not,” Emmeryn says, her voice soft. She looks at Phila in the mirror. “Will you promise me something, Phila?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“If I ever become like him, please take any actions necessary to have me removed from the throne,” she says.

Phila freezes. “You won’t ever become like him.”

“Please,” Emmeryn insists, “promise me.”

“…As you wish,” Phila says stiffly.

It’s painful to look at the gratitude that shines in Emmeryn’s eyes. Only eleven and she is making decisions that no child should, thinking of scenarios that—

It isn’t right. It isn’t _fair_. And all Phila can do is obey her liege’s wishes, swallow, and bow her head.

—

 

The last of Ylisse’s soldiers return to the welcoming arms of the Halidom on the same day that Emmeryn turns twelve. Phila has never seen the streets so colorful—but then, she hasn’t seen the kingdom come together to celebrate anything before. It’s breathtaking, how vivid joy is.

Emmeryn remains the picture of serenity during the festivities, smiling through the street performances and giving her blessings to the soldiers and thanking them for their service and loyalty. Her siblings run laughing through the crowds, excited to be a part of the celebrations. It warms Phila, just a little, to see Emmeryn’s eyes shine delightedly as she watches her family have fun.

“You don’t have to stay here, Your Grace,” Phila says to her. “You’re welcome to accompany them.”

“But then you would be alone,” Emmeryn responds.

Phila smiles at that. “You assume that I wouldn’t accompany you. I’m your personal guard, if you recall.”

“My shield and sword,” Emmeryn says.

“That, too,” Phila says.

“Phila? May I confide something in you?”

“If you wish to.”

“I worry that this happiness won’t last,” Emmeryn says. “It may take time, but Plegia will recover from its war wounds, and I suspect that its people will not forgive Ylisse for fifteen years of war.”

“The Knight-Commander once told me that nothing lasts forever, which is why we must enjoy the happy moments while we can. Make memories now, ones that you can hold onto and take comfort in when the times get dark,” Phila says.

“You’re very wise, Phila.”

 _Says the one whose eyes are far too old for her body_ , Phila thinks. She says instead: “Well, I am older than you.”

Emmeryn laughs, the way a twelve-year old should, and pulls Phila with her into the crowd to find her brother and sister.

—

 

The first person Phila ever kills is a Plegian assassin. She’s standing in the courtyard with Emmeryn and Lissa, watching them laugh when a man bursts from the hedges.

Phila doesn’t hesitate. She places herself bodily in front of the girls, draws her sword, and meets the assassin full on. He’s a weak man who relies too heavily on the element of surprise—the moment he loses it, his sword is easily lost, too. Phila isn’t sure if she stabs him or he impales himself on her sword; either way, he wheezes out a final breath and falls when Phila yanks her sword out of him.

Behind her, Lissa is screaming and Emmeryn is numb with silence. All Phila can think is: _I would have killed him faster if I’d had my lance_. And when she turns around and meets Emmeryn’s gaze: _she’ll never look at me the same way again._

The image of a man, with steel protruding from his ribcage and a bloody grin painted on his face, will haunt her for weeks to come.

—

 

Phila asks for reassignment when the captain of the Pegasus Knights comes to Ylisstol. Since the war’s end, the knights had been reassigned to guarding the kingdom’s borders, now the closest thing to front-line fighting as a time of peace allows.

“The life of an Exalt guard too uneventful for you, Phila?” Captain Guinevere asks. She holds a brave lance in one hand, has her helm tucked beneath the other arm; with her sharp eyes and hair glowing a brilliant red in the afternoon light, she is the epitome of a knight.

“It’s not that,” Phila replies, her hand tight on the hilt of her sword. “I… need to learn how to wield a lance astride a pegasus again. I believe it will bring me clarity.”

“Ah. Well, if that’s the case, then I will see it arranged.”

“You’ll have me back?”

“Once a sister, always a sister,” Guinevere responds lightly. “Besides, we could use someone with your experience in the war room. I’ve been meaning to reevaluate our response strategies. We may be in a time of peace, but I won’t see us get sloppy or outdated.”

“I’ll do what I can to help. Thank you for this, Captain,” Phila says.

“Don’t thank me, Phila; I’m not entirely altruistic in my motives. I’m looking to groom a replacement.”

“You’re seeking to retire?” Phila asks.

Guinevere nods, staring out the window into the horizon. “It’s time. It’s been an honor and a privilege to be a Pegasus Knight and serve Ylisse, but—I no longer want to look war in the eye. I have a daughter now; I’d like to be there for her as she grows up.”

“We’re no longer at war,” Phila says.

“Not a formal one, no. But you and I—and perhaps the Exalt, too—know that this peace that’s settled between Plegia and Ylisse is so brittle that the slightest pressure will break it,” Guinevere replies. “Nothing makes me sadder than having to pass on the mantle of war to the next generation. I wish we’d been able to end it, so you wouldn’t have to bear our burden.”

Phila says nothing. Through the neighboring window, she can see Emmeryn’s straw-colored hair stark against the greens of the garden. It’s been seven long weeks since the attack; it took her only two before she was able to convince Phila and the guard that a full escort wasn’t necessary for visiting the gardens and the courtyard.

Emmeryn’s crown glows in the sunlight, taking on an orange hue as the sun begins to sink in the sky.

“I believe the Exalt will be able to end it, for good,” Phila says eventually. “I will do what I can to aid her from the borders. The weight of a burden is easier to bear when it is shared.”

—

 

“I’m told that you’ve been asked to rejoin the Pegasus Knights,” Emmeryn says.

Phila is packing her bag when this conversation happens. She’d heard Emmeryn slip into the room but, having nothing to say, had kept quiet and waited for her liege to say the first words. Of course, Emmeryn didn’t disappoint.

“I’m to leave for the borders tomorrow morn,” Phila replies.

Emmeryn hums quiet acknowledgment. “I’m also told being captain of the Pegasus Knights is in your near future.”

“Only if I prove myself worthy,” Phila says.

“Of that I’ve no doubt,” Emmeryn says. She comes and sits on Phila’s bed, watching her with the same somber eyes she’d had when Phila had first met her. “You’re the finest knight I’ve had the privilege of knowing.”

“Your words are too kind, Your Grace. I’ll... carry them with me,” Phila responds.

“I mean them,” Emmeryn says softly. “I never said thank you to you, for saving my life.”

“Your Grace, there’s no need. I did my duty,” Phila says quickly.

“And I know what it cost you,” Emmeryn replies. “Please Phila, just accept my thanks.”

Phila swallows, hard, and nods her head.

—

 

Several squadrons of Pegasus Knights are stationed along Ylisse’s various borders, rotating every few months. Phila spends a bitter winter facing Regna Ferox, a nation disinclined to cause trouble with Ylisse, and an even more painful summer in the desert lands outside of Plegia. Raids occur frequently.  

Phila’s time at the Plegian border sees her become both a student and a teacher. She remembers the feel of leather wrapped around the grip of a lance, the ache of her thighs after being astride the back of a pegasus all day. She learns again how to sharpen the end of a spear, how to bark orders and take them, what it means to be a sister-in-arms.

One morning, as she’s taking her turn feeding the pegasi, from the stables she catches a glimpse of the sunrise. The sun peeking out from the dusty horizon makes the sand glow golden.

It reminds her of home.

—

 

Emmeryn writes her letters. Phila is terrible at responding; she doesn’t like the look of her handwriting and struggles to write something of more substance than _what happened at the border today_. She tries, though.

The shortest one she ever writes is when she’s twenty-four. It says: _I’m coming back._

(It’s Emmeryn’s favorite.)

—

 

Emmeryn is the picture of grace when Phila meets her again; she smiles serenely when the new captain of her Pegasus Knights kneels in front of her. She tells her to rise, thanks her for her service, and then—

Phila suddenly finds her arms full of Exalt, golden hair tickling her face. For the first time in a long time, Phila is so stunned she finds herself completely incapable of responding.

“I’m glad you’ve come back,” Emmeryn says, pulling away. “How long will you be staying?”

“I—as long as you’ll have me,” Phila replies, clearing her throat. “I’d like your permission to have the new recruits be trained here in the Halidom. All of the new recruits: Pegasus Knights, army soldiers, and the guard.”

“Will you be training them?” Emmeryn asks.

“I would be overseeing some of the training, but not all of it. If I—” Phila hesitates, but one glance at Emmeryn’s face breathes clarity into her. “—If I may, I’d like to be stationed at the palace.”

“Are you asking to be reassigned?” Emmeryn’s tone betrays the smile she’s trying to hide.

Phila huffs a relieved laugh. “Something like that.”

“I think you already know my answer.”

“…Yes, I think I might. You’ve always been kind, Your Grace. Thank you.”

—

 

The Shepherds are born of Chrom’s desire to protect and serve. Sir Frederick, Phila, and Emmeryn spend much time debating the Shepherds creation before finally relenting to Chrom’s endless, tireless petitioning. By the time Lissa decides to join the ragtag group of warriors, Emmeryn has exhausted her argument and only puts up token resistance.

Still, she frets.

“Sumia reports that the Shepherds recently aided the Farfort,” Phila says. “Bandits had razed the crops and were killing townspeople. Prince Chrom’s intervention saved many lives.”

“And everyone is unharmed?” Emmeryn asks.

“Minor wounds only. It seems Lord Virion of Roseanne will need the most bedrest of the lot, but even his most serious of wounds only required basic medical attention.”

Emmeryn sighs, a mixture of relief and frustration. “My heart might not be able to take much more of this.”

Phila rolls up her report and smiles fractionally. “Your Grace always seems so unfazed when Prince Chrom and Princess Lissa return from their excursions.”

“Unfazed! Phila, surely—”

“I know,” Phila says, trying her best not to laugh. “I feel the same way whenever I have to send my knights into the fray. They’re family.”

“Yes, exactly,” Emmeryn says. “I know having the Shepherds has been nothing but good for Ylisse, but—why Chrom and Lissa?”

“They want to protect the kingdom—and you,” Phila replies. “As many of us do.”

“I wish that protecting me didn’t mean putting them in harm’s way,” Emmeryn says.

“There’s always a cost, Your Grace. Have faith. Naga watches over the Exalted—as does Frederick. They will be safe.”

Emmeryn breathes a laugh. Phila feels sixteen again.

—

 

Phila is twenty-nine when Plegia’s king forces her Exalt’s hand. She is twenty-nine when the Prince and his Shepherds are the only reason assassins don’t have Emmeryn dead on the floor, twenty-nine when the kingdom’s most trusted all turn on Emmeryn one by one, twenty-nine when war isn’t the only threat to the people’s safety, twenty-nine when she hears the news that the Pegasus Knights have fallen—

She’s twenty-nine and darkness is swimming at the edges of her world and she doesn’t know how to stop it. 

“We leave again tonight,” Phila says, entering Emmeryn’s room without so much as a knock. Formalities are lost in times of crisis; they are now taking cover in a small inn while they wait for the cover of nightfall to return to Ylisstol. “How are you feeling?”

“A little shaken,” Emmeryn admits, “but I’ll be alright. I worry for Chrom and Lissa.”

“Robin guides them, Frederick guards them, and loyal friends have their backs. I’m certain they will be safe,” Phila replies.

“You always did know how to soothe my worries,” Emmeryn murmurs.

Phila doesn’t say anything, instead she answers a knock that comes at the door and lets in the inn’s barmaid who brings with her a tray of tea. The girl sets it down at Emmeryn’s table, curtsies, and shuffles out of the room. Phila takes care to shut the door behind her, then goes to draw the curtains, and then returns to position herself in front of the door. If anyone is to try and force their way into the room, they would have to go through her.

“Phila,” Emmeryn says softly.

“Yes?”

“Your name.”

“What of it, Your Grace?”

“It means love, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Phila replies, puzzled. “My father named me. He believed that I would have much of it to give.”

She looks over her shoulder now. Emmeryn is staring at her tea with an unreadable expression. The liquid is still. From her position, Phila sees that the dish with the sugar cubes and the pitcher of milk have remained untouched.

“Could you ever love me?” Emmeryn asks.

Her voice, to Phila’s astonishment, is shaking.

“…I’ve long stopped serving as your guard only out of duty,” she says. “If there is anyone in this world that I would give my life to protect, it is you, Your Grace. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure that you are safe, and that you are happy.”

“Stay with me, Phila,” Emmeryn says.

“Always.”

—

 

The world remains ever-cruel and does not afford them time.

—

 

Emmeryn finds her again after the fall. She opens her eyes and stares blindly into the—sky? Everything is so bright, she can’t differentiate between the earth and the heavens.

Ah. The heavens.

She sits up and touches the back of her head, her intention to find any tenderness. There is nothing. No wounds and, her gut twists, no crown. Some part of her feels relief, a weight slipping off her shoulders and finally the chance to just _sigh_. Another part of her, a smaller part of her, feels fear. All she’s ever known is being Exalt. Now that’s taken from her. Just like her family, just like Phila.

Only—

“Your Grace!”

Phila’s voice is the equivalent of a beacon in darkness. It gives Emmeryn immediate clarity: the brightness recedes, earthy colors burst in front of her eyes and she feels dirt against her palms and there is Phila, shining in all armor, _alive._

All Emmeryn wants to do is cry. Fling her arms around her knight and weep into the bare space between the tip of her breast plate and her pauldrons. Because Phila is here, she’s moving and speaking and Emmeryn saw her _fall_ , saw the arrow pierce her chest and the apology on her lips and the last breath escape her.

“Phila,” Emmeryn says instead, her tone a cross between awe and sadness. “You’re _here_.”

For a fleeting second, Phila’s expression is heartbreaking. Emmeryn blinks and it changes, from wracked with sorrow to firm with resolve. Stalwart to the end, her Pegasus Knight is.

“That I am,” Phila responds.

She extends her hands and helps Emmeryn to her feet. She beckons her to follow and they walk through the woods. For a long moment, Emmeryn is so focused on the feeling of her hand in Phila’s, of Phila’s pulse gently beating against her fingers, that she pays no mind to the way she’s being taken. It’s only when she realizes that silence is thick between them that she speaks.

“Phila, where are we going?” Emmeryn asks.

“Back to shore,” Phila says. “There a boat waits for you. You will board it and return to the world from whence you came.”

Emmeryn hesitates in her step. “What do you mean, I will return?”

“It’s not your time yet, Your Grace,” Phila says gently. “I have to send you back.”

Panic seizes Emmeryn in a way that it never has before. Her limbs lock and her throat threatens to close; she can barely choke out: “No, Phila—”

“Breathe, Your Grace. Focus on my voice and listen to me very carefully,” Phila says. “Your body lives yet, but it won’t stay like that for long without you in it. You must return to the mortal world and keep it alive.”

“But why?” Emmeryn finds herself saying. “Haven’t I done enough?”

“You have done so much, Your Grace, _so_ much. But you cannot leave the living world yet, there are still people who need your kindness, who need your strength and wisdom. Even some who need your forgiveness,” Phila responds.

The world seems to melt around them. The grassy land shifts and becomes sand, the sounds of plants rustling changes to that of crashing ocean waves. What once was a forest now is a pier, a single boat tied to the dock. The inevitability of Emmeryn’s leaving hits her hard.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Emmeryn whispers.

Phila turns to her abruptly and draws Emmeryn into a fierce embrace. She holds her for only a moment, but a moment is enough. When Phila draws back, she places her hands on Emmeryn’s arms and looks at her, truly _looks_ at her.

“This is not our final goodbye. We will meet again, I promise. And when we do, I will be at your side once more. Forever, this time,” she says.

“Do you swear it?”

“On my love, I do.”

It’s enough. Emmeryn draws on all the strength and resolve she had as Exalt and wraps it around her as a cloak, lets it guide her steps down to the boat. She fashions Phila’s words into a new crown, an invisible circlet that rests on her head, _in_ her head, and keeps her warm.

Phila helps Emmeryn into the boat. There are no oars, no seats, nothing but a single lantern at the bow. The candle in it flickers in time with her heartbeat. Emmeryn looks out at sea and can see little, the way hidden by mist.

“I suspect,” Emmeryn says, “the next time we meet, I’ll be older than you.”

“Older, but not wiser,” Phila replies impishly, and they both laugh. It’s a sad laugh, but affection is threaded through it. “I expect you’ll have plenty of stories to tell.”

“I’ll share them with you over tea,” Emmeryn says.

Her knight’s smile is fond. “I look forward to it.”

Then she uncoils the rope anchoring the boat and gives it a push. Waves take over from there. They swell around the boat and drive it straight into the unknown. Not once does Emmeryn turn her gaze from Phila to her future. The future will find her soon enough, she reasons; the present can allow her this moment.

—

 

Phila watches the boat get swallowed by the mists, sees the face of her Exalt fade away. Her smile slips, as does her strength. She sinks to her knees and stares at the sand, the color a grainy reminder of Emmeryn’s hair. A familiar swell of pain rises up in her: the desire to cry. She swallows it back down.

“Be safe, Emmeryn,” she murmurs, “and be strong.”

—

 

A woman opens her eyes.

The desert ground is hot and brittle against her back and she feels pain in every corner of her body, a harsh reminder that she is alive. Her head is throbbing, her throat is dry, and her mind is filled with white noise. She can remember nothing—not how she came to be here, not who she is, not why she can feel the tingle of magic in her fingers. Fear creeps into her, stiffening her limbs.

She looks up. The sky is cloudless, a gentle blue against the hard desert sands. It brings her comfort, strength. The echo of a memory of a woman’s hair, twisted into a knot, a surprising softness belied by golden armor.

_We will meet again, I promise._

Emmeryn forces herself to her feet and begins to walk.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i write more fe:a stuff on my fic blog, saiyuu @ tumblr, if anyone's interested!


End file.
